


Old Folks

by Jajajaja



Category: Shameless - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 02:19:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jajajaja/pseuds/Jajajaja
Summary: More than fifty years after canon. Run ins with people from the past.





	1. Chapter 1

The Uber driver pulled up to the curb and put the car into park. He cleared his throat loudly. "Dude," he said irritably. He glanced into the back seat and cleared his throat again. His passenger suddenly jolted back from his revere.

"Huh? What?" he said looking around quickly.  
  
"We've arrived at your destination," the driver said.

"Oh, uh..." The man scrambled for the wallet in his front pocket. He riffled through the bills and threw one at the driver. "Keep the change," he mumbled scooting down the seat towards the door on the curb side.

The driver picked up the bill in his lap. A fifty. "Dude," he called out, "are you sure? You already paid through the app—" His passenger had already left, leaving the back door of the Ford Explorer open. "Asshole," the driver said under his breath, unbuckling his seatbelt to get out and close the door.  
The passenger had already reached the front doors of the large sprawling building. It was the main office of a large retirement home. The man had a healthy sprinkling of salt in his jet-black hair, but he was not nearly old enough to be calling this place home.  
The man stood outside the door for a second and checked his phone, then held up his wrist and checked the time. He turned on his heels and started walking back down the path and away from the building. He slowed to a stop just at the sidewalk, muttering. He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, then marched back to the building. Swinging the glass door open, he went inside.

It was a lot brighter inside than he had expected. There was a smattering of office-type plants and doctor's-office-waiting-area- type chairs. He strode up to one of the women seated at the front desk and remembered that he had no idea what he was going to say. Just as he opened his mouth, the young woman squealed, "You must be Mr. Valdez's new son-in-law." The woman, Anika according to her name-tag, excitedly handed him a party hat and pointed towards a hallway that led further into the building. "They're waiting for you in there. Third door on your right. Can't miss it." The man took the party hat and nodded. "You better get going before you ruin the surprise." The man nodded again and headed off down the hallway, securing the green and white striped party hat onto his head. He walked to the third door on the right and saw a printer-paper sign taped to it. It read 'Ocean Conservation Taskforce Meeting: Do NOT Disturb.' These damned tree huggers would be the death of this country.  
He continued down the hallway, stopping at an open door. He stood in the door way. The room appeared to be some sort of lounge area. A large TV played jeopardy on the far side of the room. A gathering of plush chairs faced a series of ceiling to floor windows overlooking a green area. There was a dinky old upright piano tucked into one corner of the room and a pool table in another. A few old folks were there: a group of three playing a relaxed game of pool; two ladies sitting at, but not playing the piano; one woman sitting at the couch in front of the TV, but ignoring it in favor of her knitting; a man sitting on the couch as far from the lady as possible, staring vacantly at the TV.

There was an old man seated at one of the four chairs that surrounded the large window. He seemed the least threatening. The party-hatted man went over and sat in the chair next to him. The old man paid no attention to his new companion. He continued to observe the uneventful outdoors. The younger man sat silently next to him and stared out the window also.  
"My brother died today," the old man said finally.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say automatically.

"Don't be. 31 years ago today."

"Oh."

"He was an asshole...but I miss him...bastard." The old man finally turned his head to look at the man sitting next to him. "Mateo's party is two doors before this one," he said. "You must be Alejandra's new husband. Rita was telling me about you."

"I'm—no, I'm—" the man spluttered. He pulled the hat off of his head. "I'm not."

"Oh, my bad, son," the old man said tapping against his own thigh. "Who're you here visiting? You Jo's kid? She won't shut up about you, you know? Told us you're up in DC grabbing senators by the ballsack and fightin for the little guy."

"I...no, I'm not—."

"Well, what's your name, son?"

"Yevgeny. Yev," he added.

"It's good to meet you, Yev. Ian," the old man said holding out his hand. Yevgeny gripped his hand and gave it a slow shake.

"Ian," Yevgeny repeated.

"So, what are you doing out here, Yevgeeny?"  
Ian asked.

"Yev is fine," Yevgeny said. "I'm here visiting my father."

"Oh, you're not Harold's son are you? Because your father is the biggest cunt to walk the earth since... I'm sorry I didn't mean to talk about your old man like that. Harold's... Harold's got his ideas." Yevgeny seemed unresponsive. "It's just today, you know? My brother. Really takes it out of you."  
Yevgeny nodded. "Harold's probably out in the pool though. You know how he is. Tryna milk the last heat out of the year that he can. It's fuckin October. Tell Harold he's gonna freeze his balls off."

"Who?" Yevgeny asked snapping back from the distracted place in his brain.

"Harold." Yevgeny gave Ian a blank look. "Your father."

"He's not my father," Yevgeny said confused.

"Well Jesus, Luke Skywalker, who's kid are you?"

"I'm here to *meet* my father," Yevgeny confessed. Ian's breath stilled. His eyes shot wider as he studied the man next to him. The dark hair, clear blue eyes, and full lips that the man sported had never been Ian's, but the guy did have skin that screamed 'I will have skin cancer more than once in my life.' Ian had that too. Hell, Liam had turned out to actually be Frank's kid so as far as Ian was concerned, any  
DeShawn, Dustin, or Diego could show up and reasonably claim that he was his son.

"No, no, no," Yevgeny said quickly, raising his hands.

"You're not—" Ian said breathing a relieved sigh.

"No, no... Milkovich," Yevgeny said tasting the name. "Mikhailo. Mikhailo Milkovich," he said more confidently.

"You mean Mickey?" Ian asked.

"Yeah," Yevgeny said, almost a question.

"Oh, I thought his... his family seemed more..." Ian said at a loss. "What are you doing over here then?"

"First time meeting him. First time that I'll remember anyways. I'm allowed to be a little fucking nervous," he said growing defensive.

"Of course," Ian said placatingly. They sat quietly for moment, staring out the large window. "That's him," Ian said, nodding his head in the direction of the TV. Yevgeny studied the man more carefully this time. His head rested against the back of the couch as he napped with his mouth hanging open. His hair was a gray ring around the balding dome of his head. His forehead had deep wrinkles and his ears seemed to have succumbed to the old man syndrome of elongating unexplainably. But his nose was still sharp. His lips were, although chapped, still pink and full, and if Yevgeny had to guess, his eyes would be a familiar blue.

"I should, I should, um, I should..." Yevgeny stuttered, feeling his heart beating faster and his stomach rising into his throat.

Ian reached out and placed his hand on top of Yevgeny's on the arm rest. A veiny, liver-spotted hand gently patted Yevgeny's. "Take your time," Ian said. "I've known a thing or two about meeting a father for the first time." Yevgeny concentrated on the feeling of the warm hand on his. He looked at Ian, silently asking for the rest of the story. "When I was sixteen years old, my mother came back into town for the thousandth time. This time she had a girlfriend: Roberta. Bob," Ian corrected himself. "I have five siblings and Monica decided that she wanted to have another chance. Start her own family with Bob, but she only wanted Liam, the baby. My brother Lip, he figured if we could prove Liam was Frank's, Monica couldn't take him. Oh, Liam's black. Frank was my father...kind of. So my brother Lip, we take some of Liam's hair and we send it to those DNA testing people and just for fun the two of us swab our cheeks and send in samples too." Ian chuckled. "Turns out Liam was Frank's kid. I was not. Frank was my uncle. Monica'd fucked Frank's brother. Ian Clayton Gallagher. Turns out I was my father's, Clayton's, namesake. My brother and me, we went to go see Clayton. Lip insisted. I saw you a second ago, looking at Mickey. Just the resemblance. I look at Clayton and I see the red hair, can't see it much now," Ian said flicking a hair through his hair, "and the eyes, the freckles, his build. I was his spitting image. Fucking terrifying. You look a lot like Mickey. I just... I get that it's not simple."

Yevgeny nodded. "Yeah." There was another long pause as they stared out the window, Yevgeny at loss at to what to say to this long personal story.

"You catch the Bulls' game yesterday?" Ian asked shifting to a neutral topic. "That Thompson's a fucking idiot. Thinks the globe revolves around his narrow ass. They call it a team sport for a reason." Ian turned to look at Yevgeny. "You watch basketball?"

"Not really...soccer?"

"Oh, a fútbol man, I see. No, soccer's really not my bag. My brother Liam, the one my mom tried to nab, he's real into soccer. Especially since one of his kids started playing it. The kid went semi-pro for a little while. Played for the Chicago Fire. You got any kids, Yev?"

"Yeah, two."

"That's nice. How old?"

"My daughter, Inessa, she's 17, just finishing high school. My boy, Pavel, he's 15."

"Just starting to figure themselves out, uh? Becoming a little independent."

"Yeah, it's tough. Their mom and me just split up so it's even harder."

"That what spurred this family tree exploration?"

Yevgeny chuckled darkly. "I wish. Ma passed five weeks ago. After all the funeral arrangements and stuff settled down, I was going through her stuff, packing up her house for when the realtor was coming through. I'm looking at old pictures, reminiscing, and I find this old picture of me in this grungy old house. And there's this guy holding me and he looks just like me. Ma told me my dad had died in prison, never met me, but that couldn't be true, so I start digging. And I'm reading through all her files and looking through all her pictures and I find out that my father is Mikhailo Milkovich. And I'm mad. I'm so fucking mad at Ma, at him. And I can't even be mad at Ma because she's not here to be mad at and it's harder to be mad at her and mourn her at the same time. So I look him up online— not as many Milkoviches as I'd thought there'd be. I find his sister lives up in Milwaukee so I call pretending to be, God what was it, like a journalist or something, but she saw through that real fucking quick. So I 'fess up and tell her I'm looking for my father and she gives me the name of this place. I live in Cleveland, so I hop the first plane to Chicago, drive out here. And now here I am."

"Here you are," Ian repeated.

"Yeah," Yevgeny said with a shaky breath.

"You don't have to talk to him today, you know."

"I know, I just— almost feels like I did the whole meeting my father thing with you instead. Unloaded all my personal crap on you."

Ian chuckled. "Don't worry about it. And I'll tell you a secret: old man love to talk, feel like they gotta say everything before they go. And it's good. Think of this as a practice round. You come in and talk to your dad the next time."

"Thanks for this," Yevgeny said, "I should go."

"It's my pleasure." A song came on over the speakers. Even with the garbled tone it was distinguishable as "Rolling in the Deep." "Snack time," Ian said standing up. "They play all the oldies for us here." Yevgeny stood up as well. Ian held out his hand for another shake. "It was nice to meet you, son. I hope you come back."

"I will."

"Good," Ian nodded, then walked out the door and made a left down the hallway.

Yevgeny turned right towards the front of the building. He tossed the party hat into a trash can buy the door of the front room and exited the building. It was late afternoon now. A young woman holding a small bouquet of flowers walked up the path towards the building as Yevgeny walked down.

"Do you, uh, there any bars around here?" Yevgeny asked her.

"There's O'Callaghan's a few streets down," she said pointing down the street, "and Miller's Pub is a little farther down if you wanna make the trek."

"Thank you," Yevgeny said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and started walking along the street.


	2. Chapter 2

Yevgeny walked up to the front desk. Anika wasn't there today, but a plump woman in her forties was.

"I'm here to—" Yevgeny started.

"Your name, sir," she interrupted.

"Yevge—"

"Could you spell that, please."

"Y-E-V-G-E-N—" he said as she clacked on the keyboard with her bright blue acrylic nails.

"Yevenjeeny Johnson, I see here you've been added to Mr. Gallagher's visitor list."

"Um, okay."

She handed him a name tag that said visitor and he clipped it to the breast pocket of his shirt. Next she gave him a pen and a clipboard with a chart on it. "Write your name, the time you got here, and sign," she instructed. Yevgeny did, then handed the pen and the clipboard back to her.

He wandered down the familiar hallway and stopped at the door of the lounge room. The scene was almost identical. Only the ladies at the piano were gone. He spotted Ian in the same chair as before and walked over to sit next to him.

"Yev," he greeted brightly, marking the page in his book and putting it down.

"Hello."

"Wasn't sure if you were gonna come back. It's been more than a week. I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks."

"You get a chance to fly home and come back?" Ian asked.

"No, I've kinda been under the bar this past week," he confessed.

"Ha, ha, can't blame you," Ian said. "Would've been anyone's move."

"Oh, thank you for putting me on your list."

"It's no problem," Ian said waving away the thanks. "Just didn't know what your last name was, but I figured there wouldn't be many Yevgenys tryna get in here."

"True," Yevgeny agreed.

"My daughter came by to visit me the other day," Ian offered.

"You have kids?"

"Son, I have great-grandkids," Ian said with a laugh. "My daughter Katrina, she lives out in Elmhurst with her husband. Her son Jordan already has a little baby girl. Brought the whole family by the other day. Allison's her name. She just a pink little ball." Ian sigh nostalgically. "I remember when they were that small and new... Jordan's got a shitload of work coming for him. Not easy to be a dad at 16." Yevgeny nodded in agreement. He hadn't had his first kid until he was 38. "My other daughter..." Ian continued, describing the ins and out of his family, from his granddaughter' new promotion at work, to what his grandson was doing his graduate thesis on. "I just wish, Tom were still here to see all of this, all of them. My husband died 10 years back," Ian told him, searching Yevgeny's face. Times had definitely changed, but there were always stragglers.

"I'm sorry about that. It must be tough," Yevgeny said. Satisfied with his response, Ian continued extolling the accomplishments of his many family members. Yevgeny listened attentively. As long as Ian was talking, he had an excuse not to go over and face his father.

\-----------------------------

Her white heels clicked against the linoleum as she walked up to the front desk. "Mandy Milkovich, here to see Mickey Milkovich," she told the lady. "M-A-N-D-Y M-I-L-K-O-V-I-C-H," she spelled out, already familiar with the drill. The lady's bright blue nails clacked against the keyboard.

"I have a Mandy Clark," she said.

"Yeah that's me," Mandy said reaching into her purse for a pen. She quickly signed herself in on the clipboard and clicked over to the lounge room.

She spotted Mickey easily and stood next to the couch waiting for him to acknowledge her. She moved on front of him, blocking his view of Jeopardy.

"Bitch if you don't..." he started. His eyes came into focus on the face above him. "Mandy?"

"Get up and give me a hug, asshole," she said smiling.

"Mandy," he said standing up with a scowl on his face, "you finally ditch the rest of your marbles? It's October."

"What? I need an reason to see my brother?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

"Yeah. Every year, anniversary of Dad's death, we get together and get wasted, so unless I've started losin it, that shit ain't 'til March."

"I've decided to live more freely, more spontaneous," she told him.

"So that's what you call this?" he asked gesturing at her hair and sitting back down.

"What? You don't like?" she asked twirling the purple and blue streaks in her dark gray hair.

"Why are you pissing away all your money? What are you wearing?"

"Well you wouldn't know even if I told you. And it's designer. Janey got it for me."

"Doesn't the morally fucking superior Mandy Clark feel hypocritical about usin her kids like that."

"No the in-every-fucking-way superior Mandy Milkovich does not," she told him.

"Milkovich, eh?"

"Yeah, changed it back, since that asshole finally croaked."

"Good for you, good for you." Mandy plopped down onto the coach next to Mickey and looked at him expectantly. "Fuck? What?"

"Nothing."

"What'd you want, Mandy? Why the fuck are you here?"

"Came down to visit Tony in prison, figured I'd come say hi you too."

"And you couldn't do that over the phone?"

"Well, maybe, but I got an interesting phone call the other day. Local paper from our old neighborhood, doing an article on people who used to live there back in the day. Said they wanted to interview me about you." Mickey's eyebrows furrowed. "Now, I was thinking, if their gonna be callin me, they should be doin the story about my fine ass. But apparently Mr. Fuck-u-up touched more hearts and minds than Mandy Skankovich."

"Bitch, you barely even lived there," Mickey scoffed. "Got the fuck outta dodge when you were, what, 18. Left with that shitstain Kenyalla to Assfuck, Indiana. Didn't see you again for like 12 years. Livin it up from San Diego to New fuckin Orleans, while I was still in the old house with Dad and the rest of them."

"Did a guy come visit you?" Mandy asked innocently.

"A guy? What fucking guy?" Mickey asked his temper rising.

"Just a new guy?"

"What fucking guy?" he repeated. "Is that what you came to tell me?"

"You have a son, Mickey," she blurted out.

"Jesus, I know that, Mandy. Jonah, you remember him. Brown hair, tall guy, lives in Tallahassee."

"No, Mick, a real son. A flesh and blood son. A DNA test son. A you fucked his mom kinda son," she whispered louder than she meant to.

"I know," he said quietly.

"You what?" she asked loudly.

"I know."

"No you don't," Mandy said shaking her head. "I— when— how did—Mickey?" she said in disbelief.

"A lot happened when you were gone, okay," he said tersely. "You like to pretend like nothing happened, but a lot fucking happened."

"How? Why didn't you—"

"I told you there's a lot you don't fucking understand," he said taking a shaky breath. "I'm gay," he breathed quietly.

Mandy let go of a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Jesus, Mickey," she said punching his arm as hard as she would dare, "that's not news. I already fucking knew that."

"You what?" Mickey demanded, his eyebrows rising towards what should have been his hair line.

"I know. You thought I thought you and Marissa were actually married. How fucking dim do you think I am?"

"I don't know, I just..." Mickey let out another breath.

"Feels good, right?" Mandy asked smiling at him.

"Fuck you."

"There he is."

"Did-did everyone know?"

"Nah, Mick," she said patting his arm, "those fuckers were clueless."

"Dad knew," he said quietly. She rubbed his arm as lovingly as she could manage and he didn't flinch away from the touch. They sat there quietly for a moment watching Jeopardy.

"I told him where you live," Mandy said finally, "your son."

"Okay," Mickey said defeated. There wasn't much he could do about it now.

"You know what his name is at least?"

"Yevgeny."

"Yevgeny," she repeated.

"Yevgeny."

The two heard a loud laugh come from the group of chairs by the large window. Mandy turned and saw a familiar-looking man, his dark hair, facial structure, and stature all classically Milkovich. "Mick," she breathed grabbing his shoulder. The siblings stared at Yevgeny as he listened to Ian Gallagher prattle on. "Holy fuck."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit..." Mickey said under his breath. Yevgeny felt eyes on him and he turned his head, meeting Mandy's eyes. He looked from Mickey to Mandy and back to Mickey. Yevgeny's eyes widened and he took in a short breath. Ian trailed off as he noticed that his companion had become distracted.

"Jesus," Ian said quietly. Yevgeny stood up abruptly. Three pairs of eyes followed him as he strode over to the couch. He stopped in front of Mickey and Mandy. Mandy looked at Mickey then back at Yevgeny. Mickey's eyes stayed glued to his son. He stood up slowly. Yevgeny was a few inches taller than him. Ian came to stand quietly behind the sofa, recognizing that he was not a part of this family's drama, but too personally invested to truly give them privacy.

"I-I—" Yevgeny started, but he was cut off by Mickey's suddenly walking away.

"Mick. Mickey!" Mandy called after him.

Mickey walked as briskly as he could without breaking into an ill-advised jog. His face felt hot and he knew he was turning red. He felt like the air was choking him. He took the first exit out of the door and heaved a few deep breaths. His hands scrambled for the emergency pack of smokes he always kept with him. His shaky hands lit the cigarette after a few tries and he sucked on it like a lifeline, health risks be damned. After a few puffs, the tight feeling in his chest released and his head stopped swimming. 54 years. 54 years later and he still couldn't face him. Some time into his third cigarette Mandy joined him outside.

"What the fuck, Mickey! Are you smoking again? You just left—"

"Shut up, Mandy! Shut up!" he roared. "Just shut up. You don't know, you don't get it."

"Well tell me then!"

"No!"

"Mickey!"

"There was this guy! There was this guy," he repeated at a more moderate volume, "just after you left. And I was a fucking idiot. I invited him home because dad and them, everyone was on a run." Mandy nodded encouragingly. "But they finished early or something—I don't know. Point is Dad came home early and he caught us fucking on the couch. And pulls out his gun like he doesn't know which one of us to shoot, and he just lays into the guy—can't even remember his name now. Pistol whips me and an hour later this whore shows up."

"No," Mandy said quietly shaking her head.

"And he tells her 'you're gonna fuck the queer outta him' and he tells the guys 'you're gonna watch.' Never saw that guy again. He didn't call me and I sure as fuck didn't call him. Two months later, hooker's back and she pregnant. She says it's mine and that was it, Dad has me marry her. Talk about a shotgun wedding," Mickey said laughing mirthlessly at his own joke. "Then she has the kid. I could barely stand to look at her, but the kid, felt like someone was holding me underwater every time I was in the same room as him. Year after, while Dad was locked up, I give her a couple thousand and tell her to leave and she leaves. Takes the kid with her."

"Mick," she said softly. She clasped his free arm at the wrist and drew soothing circles on it with her thumb. Mickey chuckled shakily and brought the cigarette to his lips. He offered it to Mandy and she took it, blowing the smoke like an old pro. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Should go inside, I guess. Talk to him."

"Yeah." Mandy handed him back the cigarette. Once they'd smoked it down, Mickey crushed it under his heel and started back in to the building. Mandy followed.

They found Yevgeny standing in the wide hallway. "Let's get this meet and greet over with," Mickey said as he walked back up to a wide eyed Yevgeny. Ian stood watching from the doorway to the lounge. "The fuck do you want, huh, man? Money? If you're after money you're shit outta luck." Yevgeny stared at him in disbelief, his pale face getting redder and redder. "DNA don't mean shit to me, so if you were lookin for warm fuckin feelings or a hug or some crying then you better fucking hope you got the wrong guy. You had your little adventure, okay, so just leave well enough alone and get back to your life. You got a wife, huh? Kids? Just get back to your life."

Yevgeny's face looked like he had just taken a shot of habanero salsa. He clenched a fist at his side. "You're not even going to deny it? You're not even going to pretend that you don't know what this is?" Yevgeny asked, his voice quiet and dangerous. "You knew. You knew about me and you didn't do shit. You just left my mom to fend for herself and for me? What kind of person does that, huh? A piece of shit father, a piece of shit excuse for a man. Ma, she tried to tell me it was some other guy. Tried to tell me he died in prison, but I know. Now I know," Yevgeny said, his voice rising. "She died you know, not that you would fucking care. That's how I found out. She never wanted me to know what a waste of fucking space you were," Yevgeny said stepping towards Mickey and jabbing a finger at him.

"Yeah, well you would have been better off, kid. Should've listened to that whore."

Yevgeny seized Mickey by the collar of his shirt. Yevgeny's hand clenched the fabric tightly and he almost growled at Mickey. "Watch yourself." He released Mickey's shirt.

"Tough guy, eh? Gonna throw down with an old man? I'm ready, man. Do it, do it," he goaded.

"Fuck you," Yevgeny spit out.

"You're the one who wanted this. You're the one who had to fucking dig like he was in some amateur fuckin detective show, calling my sister. You wanted to meet your father, here you fucking go. Ain't my fault it's not the pretty fucking picture you hoped for."

"I was just trying to get some answers. Figure out why my father left."

"I didn't ask for this—any of this," Mickey said gesturing at Yevgeny. "Never wanted a kid and it ain't my fault you're here now. You've had your fun, get the fuck outta here."

Yevgeny shook his head in disbelief. "Fine," he gritted through clenched teeth. "Hope you have a heart attack, asshole," he said as he shoved Mickey and turned down the hallway.

"Ha, joke's on you, bitch," Mickey called at Yevgeny's retreating form. "Already had one."  
Mandy pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head at her brother's antics. She felt for the kid, really, but that didn't change the fact that she didn't know him. It wasn't his fault that whatever he was hurt Mickey, but it was still true.

\-------------------

Ian Gallagher had made a timely disappearance. When Mandy and Mickey made their way back to the lounge, they found him sitting at the armchair closest to the TV area, reading.

Mickey sat down heavily onto the sofa. Mandy joined him. "Well that was a shitshow," she said.

"Shut up," he mumbled, running his eyes.

"Jesus, Mick. You couldn't just give the guy a pat on the back and tell him to fuck off."

"No-" he looked around the room. He found Ian staring at the two of them on the couch. Ian quickly averted his eyes back to his book when Mickey caught him staring. "You got somethin to say, motherfucker?" Mickey said to Ian. Ian looked up innocently and pointed at himself in question. Mickey threw his eyebrows up menacingly. Ian stood up, leaving the room.

"Easy there, tiger," Mandy said patting Mickey's arm. "I think this day has been exciting enough."

"It better fuckin be," Mickey muttered.

"Should probably get goin too," she said standing. Mickey rose as well. "We're not done talking about this," Mandy said wagging a finger in his face. He swiped it out of the way.

"You better fuckin believe we are."

He followed her to the exit as Mandy clicked away. Mickey rubbed a tired hand over his face then went off to find a drink.


End file.
